


Scramble

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scramble

His toes can’t find purchase on the linoleum floor beneath his feet. Bent over the side of Grantaire’s bed, he has his fingers clutching into the comforter and his face covered by messy blond curls. This is ridiculous. He should have more self control, but he can’t—he lets out a terrible cry and tries to bury his face into the fabric again. It isn’t working, of course. It’s completely overwhelming.

Grantaire thinks it’s funny and swipes his tongue over Enjolras’s hole again in order to elicit the same loud reaction. His legs are kind of getting tired, but it’s worth it, because there’s something about the idea of Enjolras—Enjolras, the marble statue—trembling like this, and it’ll be enough to hold him over for the next few weeks—if not months. He holds the firm cheeks apart and presses kisses to the sensitive skin. The way he does it is dirty and wet and it’s everything that he has ever wanted to do to Enjolras summed up in a singular, sinful act.

For his part, Enjolras isn’t sure whether or not he likes it. It isn’t that he doesn’t like it, but it’s a strange sensation. It almost feels wrong, but then, what part of that is his upbringing and what part of that is actually how he feels? Because he doesn’t actually feel wrong, being broken apart like this. He can’t stop the way he’s breathing—erratic, shuddering—or the fact that with each thing Grantaire does back there, he can’t hold in any kind of noise. The entire floor probably knows what they’re up to, and Enjolras can’t bring himself to care because—oh, he’s doing it again and it just feels so good that Enjolras—almost wantonly—pushes back for more. He would beg, if that were in his nature. But even here, it isn’t, so he contents himself with what he’s offered.

It’s enough. He almost wants to know where Grantaire learned to do this, how many others he’s done this for—but he tries to stop that jealous way of thinking because that shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t, not as long as they’re together now. His legs shake and Grantaire uses his strong arms to keep him up and in the position he wants. He can feel Grantaire smiling into his skin before continuing and Enjolras bangs his head against the mattress. 

It’s too much and while Enjolras never wanted to think of himself as some blushing virgin, that is almost exactly what he is with Grantaire. He comes all over the dark comforter and would feel bad if he could, but he can’t, not right now. His head feels light and his legs give out but Grantaire is quick to catch him and lift him onto the bed completely. 

"Give us a kiss?"

Grantaire’s mouth is bright red and he’s grinning, smug as ever. Enjolras groans before putting his palm against it and pushing him away. “Go brush your teeth first. That’s disgusting.” 

"You didn’t enjoy it?"

"I didn’t say that, did I?" He leans forward and kisses the top of Grantaire’s head. "Brush your teeth, R."


End file.
